No Grave Shall Hold Him
by That F.I.G
Summary: Death is not the end, merely the limit of our vision.  Reviews are welcome and encouraged!
1. Life Is All About Goodbyes

"_**We only part so that we may meet again.**_"

It took the dock hands twenty delicate minutes to hoist Cole's benevolent butt onto the barge. Zeke stepped back in the shade of the crane and let them work as he was sure he would only get in their way, like he had so often done before. Fresh tears threatened to spill and Zeke pulled off his glasses to deal with them. He wondered what Cole would think if he could have seen him now, blubbering like a baby while others celebrated new life. Thousands paraded the streets as the cops took the back seat and watched them revel. Saint Cole's Cathedral, as it was now known, was packed with mourners who celebrated the life of the man they barely knew but owed everything to.

When finally the barge was loaded the thousands who had gathered to say farewell pressed closer against the security barricade. The cops stood firm, pushing them back down towards the other half of the dock. When the dock hands finally dispersed and rolled away their machines, Zeke stepped onto the plank and marched on board with his head downcast. Despite his best efforts a tear marred his cheek, but rather than wipe it away he wore it like a soldier would a congressional medal, in honour of his fallen friend.

"Hey Zeke," a cop called from the dock, "make sure you get that boy home safe you hear?"

Zeke tried to respond, but the sound was trapped in his chest. He looked back at the coffin and then at the cop, nodding slowly. A siren at the end of the dock alerted him, and he looked across to see a motorcade of police cars pulling off the road and edging down the dock. The crowd parted like the red sea without protest, and the convoy of cops came to a rolled halt at the end of the dock, opposite the barge. The doors opened, and at least a dozen officers stepped into the light. One in particular stood out from the rest, wearing full ceremonial uniform and carrying his hat beneath his arm. The New Marais police chief, Martin O'Connor.

"Ezekiel Dunbar?" he spoke with a clear southern drawl, but didn't sound reprimanding or hostile like most cops would when they read his full name out loud.

"That's Zeke, and what do you want?" Zeke answered, wiping the tear from his cheek.

"To pay our respects," the aging chief answered, pulling his hat out from under his arm and fixing it on his head. Then the cops did something he never expected, the police fell into formation around the chief and as one, stood in salute to the barge. Zeke admired the touching gesture, fighting the itchy temptation to return the gesture. Then Zeke noticed the crowd, who had remained silence the entire time, and how they held their breath in patriotic silence. It felt like the whole world was finally taking notice, finally giving Cole the thanks he so rightly deserved.

"Brother," Zeke whispered, his hand resting on Cole's coffin, "you will never believe what's happening."

The silence continued as Zeke climbed the wheel and started it up. Even the engine respectfully chugged to life at the first time of asking, and started pulling the barge away from the dock and out to sea. Even halfway into the swamp, when Zeke looked back he could still see the line of blue uniforms guarding the dock. The plan was to float the barge out to sea where a naval ship was waiting to take both Zeke and Cole back to New Marias, where Zeke planned to bury Cole in the place where it all began as a final favour to the man he had called his brother for so long.

"Just you and me now brother, damn what I wouldn't do for some tunes right now." Zeke whistled, pulling out a deck chair beside the coffin. Zeke restrained from peering into the glass surface, finding Cole's frozen body hard to look at. Zeke pulled a cooler up beside the chair and cracked open the lid, fishing out a cold brew and a bottle opener. Taking a sip, Zeke ruefully remembered the last drink he shared with his best friend. It nearly triggered another downpour, but he shook himself out of it with another swig of beer. Then, just as he thought things couldn't get any worse, the sky darkened. Thick clouds drifted over the sun, threatening to burst at any moment.

"Aw that's just typical," he sighed, pulling his jacket tighter against his body in preparation of the rain to come. The world may be in mourning, but the weather obviously wasn't playing game. Zeke was hesitant to leave his brother, but as the waves started chopping against the barge he knew his place. The cabin door opened with a hiss as Zeke climbed in and started playing with the controls. The water was churning, some of it slapping onto the deck as the water turned hostile.

"God damn it," Zeke muttered, lifting the radio, "hey guys the water's getting real bitter out here. How far are you guys?" Zeke released the transmitter and waited for a response, nothing. Silence continued, and after a few seconds Zeke hit the transmitter again.

"Hey, is anybody out there?" Still silence and the waters were getting worse. "God damn it!" Zeke shouted, slamming the radio back onto its stand and bursting from the cabin. Water was already spilling over onto the deck, and the large frame of the barge was creaking nosily. Zeke grabbed a pair of crank lines from a trunk at the front of the barge and cast them over the railings and Cole's coffin.

"Bad news Cole, we're heading into a rough patch!" He shouted over the roar of the now whipping wind as he cranked the lines securely over the coffin. The pressure of the lines fastened around the coffin, trapping it on the barge. Unfortunately, the mounting pressure of the lines crushing the coffin cracked the glass. The small hairline crack on the surface would be unnoticeable to most, but to Zeke it's painfully evident. "Ah shit, sorry brother but it's for your good."

The barge heaved and churned, and as soon as he was sure that Cole was secured he started back towards the cabin, with rain now coming at him at needle pace. Zeke climbed back behind the controls and took a hold of the wheel and the radio.

"Good god people if you're out there then I have one hell of a problem out here, so get off your backside and get out here before – " The sound of thunder echoed across the water as lightning cross the sky, startling Zeke and sending the radio clattering to the floor. Zeke put both hands on the wheel and turned as hard and as fast as he could, lining the nose of the barge towards the last bit of light in the distance. He kept it steady, and then the second bolt came. It hit the water only a little bit off the bow of the barge, sparking a tirade of shock from Zeke. It was then that the third bolt stroke, a direct hit on the coffin. The heat snapped the crank line, sending it whipping across the glass screen as lightning ripped through the barge, shocking Zeke and sending him crashing into the back wall of the cabin, knocking him unconscious.


	2. Out Of The Frying Pan

When Zeke had finally come back to his senses he was in another place. The smell of salt water was gone, replaced instead by the smell of oil and rusted metal. His clothes were damp and clung to his pale, goose bumped skin. His hair was scraggy and fell over his forehead in clumps. Had he woken up in the middle of a street he would have assumed it was nothing more than classic post party syndrome, but he hadn't woken up in the street. The floor was cold to the touch, and as he sat up and looked around he discovered that he wasn't on the barge anymore. He was in a room, with four steel walls, a cot and basic lavatory appliances such as a toilet and a sink below an empty frame where a mirror once hung. With great effort, Zeke managed to sit himself on the cot and ended up feeling nauseous as a result. He rested his face in his hands and let it all come back to him, and when he remember the ill-fated voyage of the barge he leapt to his feet with a shout. "Cole!"

Someone must have heard him, because no sooner than did the name leave his lips did the valve on the door begin to twist. After half a rotation the locks rolled away and allowed for a guard to enter. He dressed in complete black with full body armour and an M4 firmly welded to his hands and was obviously paid to look intimidating. Zeke shied away from him, unsure what to make of them.

"Get up," he ordered.

"Where's Cole?" Zeke questioned, and got a taste of the M4's stock as an answer. The impact blurred his vision and sent him sprawling back to the cold floor, bringing back the strong feeling of nausea he had barely suppressed the first time. "I said get up!" the guard repeated, louder than before. Zeke didn't reply, and just did as he was told.

He was marched into a narrow corridor, where half a dozen identical valve-operated doors all but confirmed Zeke's theory that he had somehow ended up on a ship. His mind was still focused on Cole and the consuming fear that Zeke might have lost him to the sea. Even in death I'm still letting you down, he thought as he was pushed through an open hatch. This room was larger, but mostly empty save for a few filing cabinets in each corner of the room and an armed guard posed beside the one of the three doors. Zeke was led through that one and then ushered up three flights of stairs, all the time encouraged by the menacing guard at his rear.

Their journey came to a halt as they came out into the open air, stood on the deck where a small garrison of guards like the ones he had already met stood watch over maybe a dozen men and women in white coats as they orbited around a large steel block in the middle of the deck that was one way or another connected to a series of other varying computers and machines via numerous cables and pipes leading out of its sides.

"So glad you could join us Zeke," a female voice spoke above him. Zeke lifted his head and looked up, straining to see with the sun in his eyes. Her brown hair was hanging over him, her arms folded in stereotypical business woman fashion and she dressed like a corporate executive but with a 9mm strapped to her hip.

"Who the hell are you, and where is Cole?" Zeke roared, taking the attention of everyone on deck. The woman sneered, as if finding him amusing before unfurling her arms and letting them rest by her side.

"My name is Director Melissa Houston and I think you've heard of me. As for where Cole is, well, he's right in front of you." She answered, pointing to the metal box on deck.

"Wait," Zeke paused, "so you're the one who arranged to send Kuo and John undercover?" Houston only nodded and didn't go into details, which was to be expected of someone with her level of mythology behind her. "You're responsible for everything! Empire City, New Marias, if it wasn't for you then Cole wouldn't be … it was your entire fault!" Zeke roared, stabbing a finger in her direction. Houston only sneered and gestured her head towards one of the guards, who seized Zeke and dragged him up the deck away from her. Zeke resisted, shouting profanity, but a second guard stepped in swung the stock of his rifle at him, catching his across the jaw and knocking the fight out of him.

Zeke was cuffed and left in a chair beside a desk. The box with Cole was only a few yards away and Houston's goons were now wheeling some poor sap towards the guys in white coats. The guy wasn't that much older than Zeke, maybe the same age, but he was clearly out of it. A respiratory mask was fixed over his face and Zeke counted at least five pipes were running out of his chest and arms and through several machines.

"Subject 937," Melissa Houston said as she slapped her clipboard down on the table beside Zeke, startling him, "you're going to answer some questions for us Zeke."

"Oh really, and what do I get in return?" Zeke eyeballed her with the corner of his eye, of everything he had heard of NSA's infamous director he never would have pictured him as in fact a woman. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be dead or something?" He asked, remembering the news bulletin only a few weeks ago.

"Yes, I am dead." She didn't so much as blink.

"Right, so mind explaining what the hell you're doing talking to me?" Zeke looked back over to 937 who was being strapped to another bed only feet away from Cole's box.

"Simple, being dead has many advantages. Not least of all being able to avoid taxes," she answered curtly, "now first question; was John White the Beast?"

"You didn't know that? Man, for the NSA you guys sure are slow on the uptake." Zeke tried to sound as insulting as possible, hoping to hit some sort of nerve.

"How did John become the Beast?" She pressed, and Zeke sensed something lurking behind it.

"Why do you want to know?" He replied as Melissa pressed her blanched knuckles on the table and leant closer, boring into his eyes. Zeke suddenly wished he had his glasses.

"I am asking the questions, and you provide the answers." She sneered.

"Well forget it, I don't know how it happened and I sure as hell wouldn't tell a psycho like you if I knew!" Zeke expected another gun butt for his valiant objections, but it never came. Melissa Houston stepped away from the table, nodded curtly to her subordinates, then drew the 9mm from her hip and emptied a single shot between Zeke Dunbar's eyes. He was gone before he even fell out of his chair.

"Clean that up," Melissa barked as she moved towards Cole and 937. She had sacrificed to much to gain such precious little, Zeke Dunbar was a long shot but she hoped that maybe somewhere in his little brain there may had been half a dozen brain cells that could have shared some potent information. Oh well, she thought. On to the next step, onwards and upwards.


End file.
